


Teumessian

by BlanketFortAvenger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Nogitsune (Teen Wolf), Astrological Mythology, Complete, Constellations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Good Peter Hale, Holding Hands, Hugs, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Canon-Typical Danger, Mutual Pining, No Smut, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Polyamory, Protective Chris Argent, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old, Summary may change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-06-27 14:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19792363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlanketFortAvenger/pseuds/BlanketFortAvenger
Summary: Peter lies on the forest floor, smirking up at the awakening stars. Laelaps would never catch the fox that cannot be caught, but the wolf knew something the hunting dog didn’t. If he waited, his prey would come to him, just like the stars had.The first chapter can be read as a stand-alone Steter fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work will only be 3-4 chapters long. I am hoping to have the whole thing published within the next week, but my health hasn't been the best, so we'll see. I'm not even trying for canon compliant here. You can imagine that the drama plateaued after Peter's resurrection, the nogistune never happened, and this takes place years later. Enjoy.

The wolf lies on the forest floor, smirking up at the awakening stars. Amongst roots and dying leaves, peering up through the trees at the glimpse of evening sky. He’d chosen there, because of the dappled shade earlier in the day. Had been lying there since the afternoon, and would lie there much longer still, should he need to. He would be a lot more comfortable with his pelt, but for once his human form would be more useful for his hunt. He reclined back, hands tucked behind his head, and began his wait. The sky had been a bright blue before, as if reflecting the wolf’s eyes. Soon enough it had faded, and the stars had begun to appear, bringing with it the evening chill. Anyone would call him foolish, what kind of wolf didn’t hunt its prey? See, he had tried once, but that was even more foolish. His prey was a fox. A fox, that by the whispers of the stars themselves, could not be caught.

A rabbit scurries out from the underbrush just to his left, and startles further at the sight of the wolf. Its heartbeat pattering, as it’s small lungs heave, then darts off into another direction. The creature had been hidden just downwind of him, but he had been tracking it for a few hours now. All without leaving his bed of crisping leaves. As for what had disturbed the critter, the wolf cannot sense it, but he knows what it is all the same. A night bird calls a gentle warning above him. 

Laelaps would chase forever, the dog destined to always catch his prey, would never catch this fox. But the wolf knew something the hunting dog didn’t. If he waited, his prey would come to him, just like the stars had.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Stiles says, his face stumbling into Peter’s vision. He’s looking down at the wolf, but Peter can still see some stars through the fox’s hair. He’s wearing a hoodie, but his arms are still tightly wrapped around himself. Neither are sure if the look is chastising, or cold. Peter grins. Stiles narrows his eyes.

“Did my nephew send you to come find me? I dare say Scott protested”. Stiles snorts in derision.

“They both told me to leave you alone”. Peter lets his smile fall into a relaxed expression.

“And yet, here you are”.

“You’ve been out in the woods for hours, someone had to make sure you weren’t up to something”. Stiles toes at the ground before kicking a fluffy of dry leaves onto Peter’s favourite shirt. Peter looks down, but otherwise makes no move to brush them away.

“I was tired of all their posturing, so I came out here to nap,” Peter sighs, and gives a little stretch to reinforce the half-truth. It certainly wasn’t a lie. Hopefully, not enough of one that the trickster fox will be able to sense it. Stiles groans.

“The sooner we find something for them to fight, the better. Until then, all they have is each other.” Stiles drops down cross-legged beside him. Peter gives a small huff of laughter in agreement, to hide his delight. “I left Chris to deal with it.”

“Argent’s here?”

“Yeah, he’s here under the pretense of helping, but I think he just wants to keep an eye on Alison and Scott”. Peter only hums in response, and rolls his neck, so that he’s looking back at the sky. No doubt the hunter was bristling at not knowing where the fox had disappeared to. “Things were settling a bit when I left, they were ordering pizza,” Stiles shivers the last part. “Can we go back? I’m freezing”.

“Well, there’s no need for you to stay, and I’m toasty”. Peter is the most still he’s ever remembered being. Stiles sighs beside him, but it comes out on a shaky, little yawn.

“Werewolves”. He huffs, and shuffles around, making a crinkling symphony as he does. Finally, he falls into the leaves beside Peter with a thwumpsh. Peter freezes, not with the stillness of a hunt, but with genuine surprise. Stiles is so close he’s using Peter’s crooked elbow as a pillow, while effectively trapping one of his arms. Their bodies are aligned from head to toe, as Stiles tries to siphon some of his supernatural heat.

“Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you?” Peter’s voice is dry with lack of effort, or feeling. As much as he had hoped, he had never imagined his plan to work quite so splendidly, and he’s still somewhat stunned.

“Mm toasty,” Stiles hums in agreement, but it’s quiet, and a little too unsure. Peter can feel the warmth of breath against his cheek, Stiles’ face turned just enough to watch for his reaction. The young man’s heartbeat is quick, but steady, and his muscles are not as relaxed as they should be. Peter’s sure one wrong move would chase the fox away. He makes a point of relaxing all his own muscles and closing his eyes on a sigh. Soon enough Stiles is relaxing too, melting further into the warmth of Peter’s side.

Naturally, there’s only so long Stiles can go before he begins to fidget. Peter ignores him for the first few minutes, willing the other to stay in this moment of contentment. It seems to work, as Stiles settles again, until he feels the fluttering of fingertips over his stomach. He cracks open an eye to see that Stiles is turned further onto his side to reach over him, and is delicately brushing away the leaves he’d kicked onto Peter’s shirt. When all the leaves are gone, he straightens out the fabric, and his hand hovers. With his own hand, Peter grabs Stiles’ as it goes to retreat. He wraps his palm over the chilled fingers, and wordlessly pulls them down onto his chest. Stiles immediately curls closer to turn it into an embrace. Peter closes his eyes, and smiles when lips are lightly pressed to his cheek. He can feel that his fox is smiling too.


	2. Chapter 2

"What were you thinking?!" Chris seizes Stiles by the wrist of his injured hand. Peter would growl, but he sympathises with the hunter, reluctantly. The situation is worthy of the man’s concern. Peter isn’t surprised to see that Stiles looks unchastised, and instead, vaguely shocked. "You're lucky it's only this bad, it could have been a lot worse”.

A lot worse indeed. The young spark had been playing with fire after all, and Peter would readily keep anyone he cared for far from ever feeling a flame again. Let alone the wildfire that had swirled in Stiles' grasp. Peter admits that it was magnificent, reluctantly. The fire had blossomed at the spark’s call, and withered at his will. Stiles had stood, grin more mischievous and proud than Peter had ever witnessed. Flames bit at his fingertips, and licked across his arms. There wasn’t a star in the sky that had shone brighter in that moment, and Peter would faster set out to extinguish them all, than take that power from the young man. Fox fire, Peter had thought, can be just as tricky as it's wielder. 

“I thought I had it under control,” Stiles admits, cowed. He turns to briefly offer Peter a small, guilty smile for having made the wolf worry. Peter huffs, uncharacteristically indulgent, and smiles back. Stiles’ attention turns back to Chris, sucking in a sharp breath, as the other man applies antiseptic.

Chris is holding Stiles' palm in his own, taking a look at the raw, scorch marks left there. Peter shifts closer, his concern drawing him forward, but not close enough to truly be involved in the moment.

"You're too careless,” Chris sighs. Peter’s eyes almost roll back into his head.

"Careless?!" Stiles smacks away Chris' hands with the back of his own.

"If I cared any less, I wouldn't be learning spells to fight things like rusalki. Remind me Chris, who went and got themselves mostly drowned last month?" As much as Peter is reluctant to acknowledge the spark’s affinity for flames, the incident by the lake had been harrowing. He’d heard Stiles’ scream, and he hadn’t heard the hunter’s heartbeat. “Do you want me to care less about that idiot?” Stiles emphasizes, almost comically furious. Chris offers a singular expression of guilt that faces up against the full force of the fox's anger, before dropping his eyes to the floor.

"You don’t have to do that, Stiles”. It would be a statement that Peter could admire. Acknowledging Stiles' efforts, without regretting his own. It's not at all apologetic. It would be brave, if Chris didn't proceed to turn tail and run. Said tail most definitely between his legs. Who'd have thought that it would be the fox to chase away the hound? Peter watches Stiles, as he watches the other man leave.

Peter recognises that there’s something there, something that could come of the chase between the two. Peter also recognises that these unresolved issues will only continue to eat into his own relationship with Stiles. Something had to be done, Peter had to make his claim in a way the hunter would understand. Of course, he trusts with his whole being that Stiles wouldn’t let something become of it while he was with Peter. Furthermore Peter, while he hates the thought, would let Stiles leave if he should ever wish to. Still, it wasn’t healthy to let the tension between them continue to swell and overflow the way it continued to do so now. If Peter could get Chris to acknowledge that Stiles did have feelings for him, then maybe the other man could get over his "unrequited" pining long enough to see that it was ruining all of them. The hunter was a decent man, Peter is sure that the only thing keeping the two of them from moving on was the complete denial of his feelings toward Stiles, and of any fledgling reciprocation Stiles might have. The eternal chase the two of them were locked in had to be broken. Either the fox stopped running, or the hound stopped chasing. For Peter’s own sake, he hoped it would be the latter. He continues to watch as Stiles' own expression falls into something resembling the blame Chris' had, and that won't do.

"No one is questioning your loyalty, Stiles". Anticipating Stiles’ worry, Peter comes to stand beside his fox, turning Stiles so that they’re face to face. Peter let’s his palm settle on the young man’s cheek, and Stiles tilts his face into it, closing his eyes. "We know you care, just like we can't help caring about you”. Stiles let's out a long breath, turning further into Peter to lean against his chest.

"My hand hurts”.

"Then you should have let Chris finish before snapping at him,” Peter chuckles. “You know I'm useless at it”. Stiles whimpers from either the dull throb of pain, or the tired frustration of the circumstances. Peter uses his free hand to gently cup the back of Stiles’ to draw out the sting. He wants to stop almost as soon as the unmistakable heat of the burn transfers to his own flesh, and black veins carry it up his wrist. Instead, he lets his other arm fall to Stiles’ waist to pull him into a close embrace, and lets his lips brush the hair at the other’s temple.

“I do care about him”. Stiles admits quietly into Peter’s shoulder.

“I know you do,” Peter whispers, letting his own head fall to Stiles’ neck and breathing in deeply. Stiles tries to pull away to look at the wolf, but Peter only holds him closer.

“Peter, that’s not what I…” Peter shushes him, extinguishing the lie before it can unsteady the beat of Stiles’ heart.

“We both do,” he admits, and he’s not surprised to find that it isn’t a lie, but that it’s more truth than he’d known. Stiles settles, turning his face to let Peter press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

Peter lets his fist fall heavily upon the hunter’s door. He can hear a heartbeat, and waits patiently for footsteps to draw near. Peter can tell that it’s Chris by the tortured steps of the individual on the other side. He never thought that the walk of a pining, sulking man could be very obvious, but it was. He’d watched Stiles walk that walk for the past week. The mountain ash perimeter breaks, and the door listlessly inches open. Peter lays his hand flat to the wood, pushing past the threshold, and past Chris. The hunter isn’t surprised to see Peter in the doorway, and simply stands aside to let the ‘wolf further into his home. Peter suppresses what he knows is a chastisement his mother would be proud of, and instead surrenders to his own signature style of reprimand – smug disappointment.

“Are you hiding from him, or waiting for him to come to you?” Peter asks, as the door closes behind him. Chris doesn’t say anything, silently following Peter into the kitchen, where the ‘wolf begins going through a cupboard. He’s been there enough times that he knows where to look. Rifling isn’t quite the correct word for what he’s doing. Chris is health-conscious enough that there isn’t an awful lot of processed food in the hunter’s home, but shoved to the back, as if guiltily, there is one package. Even the crinkle of the plastic is familiar, a testament to how many times Peter has heard it. He holds up the family pack of chocolate and peanut-butter cookies. “I know that you buy these for Stiles”.

Peter doesn’t say that he knows why Chris keeps the supply of cookies. He doesn’t say that he’s seen the hunter try to hide his smile when Stiles shoves two of the treats into his mouth at once. The words go unsaid, but the sentiment is even louder than Chris’ heartbeat. The man lowers his eyes, his scent betraying his embarrassment, and his confusion.

“He’s not a child,” Peter admonishes.

“I know,” Chris interrupts, only to the service of Peter’s next point.

“I know you do. I’ve seen the way you look at him”. A rare, stunning, and stunned kind of panic settles Chris’ features. Not a hunter’s stillness, but a manic hound caught in between the throws of fight and flight, rabid with its own indecision. Peter sighs wearily, he doesn’t want to fight, he is tired of useless fighting. “And I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know you don’t think of him as a child anymore, Christopher. You need to remember not to treat him like one”.

Peter stalks away, pushing the cookies into the other man’s chest as he passes. Chris’ hands come up to take them, but Peter leaves his hand pressing against the plastic, pinning the baked goods to the man’s chest as he speaks. “Bring them with you. They’ll be an essential part of your apology”.

“I don’t expect to be forgiven”. Peter tries to respect the other man’s conviction. He laughs.

“Good, because I sincerely doubt that you intend to apologise”. Peter walks back into the hall, and he hears the man sigh as those slow, shallow footsteps begin to trail after him.

Peter is two feet ahead of the other man, and reaching for his coat, when Chris’ hand reaches past him to pull the heavy fabric from the rack. Peter means to turn with his incredulous judgment ever at the ready, but feels the coat being pulled over his shoulders. Heavy hands smooth the fabric down over his arms. Peter shrugs on the coat, thinking that if he has to be surrounded by sulks all evening, then he at least deserves to be treated like a gentleman.

The sun sets as they’re driving. Dusk dropping out of the sky like it didn’t dare be caught in its hazy, blushing flirtation with night. Chris hasn’t asked where they’re going, and he has the look of an old dog that knows it’s being taken out into the woods to be shot. Peter isn’t driving fast, he’s giving the evening time to pull on all her finery, and he doesn’t offer any words to soothe Chris’ concern. He’s taking them out of town on a road that hasn’t had a soul on it all day, aside from those persuaded into being lost. They’re leaving Beacon Hills city limits when either of them next speaks again.

“You like them too,” Chris accuses, and Peter hums in thoughtless question as he eyes off the last turning before their destination. As if to answer, or perhaps for the sake of fiddling, the pack of cookies crinkles in Chris’ hands. Still it’s a minute before he speaks again, but when he does, Peter’s hands tighten imperceptibly around the steering wheel. “I keep buying them, because you like them too”.

The car slows to a crawl, as Peter’s heart accelerates so slightly that he wouldn’t have felt it, except for the heaviness with which it begins to beat. The crunching of gravel beneath the wheels, loud in the silence. He turns to look at Chris, as he yanks on the handbrake, and turns off the engine. A thin deadpan affixed over his genuine delight, so that when combined, it resembles something sadistically sarcastic.

“Well, who doesn’t?” Peter huffs. Chris only smirks, even in the face of Peter’s dismissal. “I do like them,” Peter admits quietly, before allowing some of his earlier chastisement back into his voice. “But I’m not the one you need to be charming”. Both men startle when there’s a knock on the driver’s side door. Stiles, shining the light of his phone into the car.

“Come on you two, I’ve been sat out here for an hour”. Stiles grins before disappearing back into the dark, presumably in the direction of the jeep. Peter chuckles, but the ghost of it leaves him on a short exhale. Chris is looking out of the windshield with a hangdog expression, and the eyes of a man who is trying to summon every ounce of his conviction to do something that shouldn’t require any. Sometimes it's easier to chase and never catch, than it is to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey guuuys, it's been too long. ^.^' I hope you understand, but I had to take some time for myself, things got a bit tense. The next chapter is the last chapter and half-way written. Let's hope these boys can get it together by the end. I know this has many errors, I'm going to try convince my sister to beta at some point. To old readers, thank you for your patience, to new, thank you for reading. Love you all, and I hope you're all well.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles gives the hood of his jeep two solid thumps with a closed fist, as Peter and Chris stare at him doubtfully. Parked at the end of the road, a grassy hill slopes off down in front of the car, and in the distance, there are pinpricks of light from the few residential properties on the city’s outskirts.

“Come on,” he whines. “My baby is a 90’s girl, she’s solid, she can hold us”. Stiles has already awkwardly pulled himself up, and rolled across the hood to lounge against the windshield. He’d spread a rug and some pillows across it, and he’d brought sandwiches from their favourite deli. “Hood’s still warm,” he coos in an attempt to entice them, Peter only snorts, before walking around the side of the jeep and pulling himself up. The warmth from the metal underneath soaking through the blankets, and into his jeans. The two of them take up too much space, and Chris gives an awkward wince. Peter solves the issue by pulling a squawking Stiles into the space between his thighs, and letting him lie back against his chest.

“Mm toasty”. Stiles laughs softly, and Peter tightens his arms around his waist. Stiles and Chris reach for the deli bag at the same time, before quickly pretending that they hadn't, and Peter tries not to growl in frustration.

“The view would be better if we were closer to the city,” Chris mentions after they’ve finished up their sandwiches. The food no longer able to excuse the awkward silence. Peter lets his head lull to the side to look at Stiles, raising one eyebrow, daring the young man to confront that statement. Daring him to confront Chris.

“You’re just looking in the wrong direction,” Stiles grins, still looking at Peter, but turning to Chris at the last moment. He makes a startled, questioning noise, looking over at the ‘wolf, as Stiles lifts himself gently into the hunter’s lap.

“Peter?” He asks uncertainly, and it makes Peter’s eyes fall shut, because it sounds like a plea. With firm, covetous hands Stiles pushes the older man to lie back against the windshield. Chris spares a brief, concerned glance toward Peter, but when all he receives is an expressionless façade, he looks back to the young man straddling his thighs.

“Is the view any better now?” Stiles asks, chuckling when Chris can only nod mutely. Peter swallows dryly when he leans in close to the hunter. Letting their chests settle together, Chris’ hands come up to hold the young man’s hips.

“Look up,” Stiles whispers.

Peter wants to follow the softly spoken direction, and he knows that if he does, he’ll see constellations and asterisms hung in the deep sky, glittering more splendidly than could be seen in the city. Maybe he’d even see the astral fox, its limbs stretched out mid-leap. Instead, he watches his own fox, and the hunter beneath him. A little hesitant, Chris closes his eyes, and tilts his head back hesitantly, breathing in a fortifying breath. When he opens his eyes, a gentle smile softens his face, and his voice is just a whisper. Maybe it’s eased out of him by the excuse not to look at Stiles, perhaps it’s to soothe the guilt before anything can happen. Maybe it’s the magnificence of the night sky above him that compels Chris to speak.

“I’m sorry, Stiles”. With Chris still looking to the stars for guidance, only Peter hears Stiles’ almost silent sigh. Only Peter sees the wonder, longing, and overflowing honesty in the young man’s expression. Peter had expected witnessing it to hurt, and it did, but with a subtle kind of heartache. Watching Chris’ thumbs stroking the skin just under the hem of Stiles’ shirt, seeing the shiver that runs up Stiles’ spine. Peter feels the kind of sorrowful desire that has no name. The grief and gentle fear that grips the throat when confronted with change. The excitement that comes with the start of something new, and the reluctance to let go of the way things used to be.

Stiles seems to sober, turning to look at Peter with a pleading expression, full desperation. Peter is blind to it; all he sees is hope. Letting all the comfort and warmth he feels for his fox settle into his smile, Peter gives a shallow nod. Stiles’ eyes are watery and sparkling when he inhales shakily, and worried by the sound, Chris looks back to him. Peter’s heart beats heavily, when Stiles cups the hunter’s cheek in his hand, and leans into him.

The kiss is deep, and slow. The kind of kiss that feels like you need it to breathe, and steals your breath at the same time. Peter is overwhelmed with the unnamed emotion. He can’t watch anymore, and instead, leans back against the windshield, and looks up at the stars. He watches those glistening points, and it settles the ‘wolf some. Lying there in their peaceful stellar presence, listening to soft breaths, and quickening heartbeats. He’s hardly closed his eyes when a stillness settles through the air. Peter’s brow furrows when he hears Stiles’ heart skip a beat, then a crunch is followed by the smell of chocolate and peanut butter. Stiles moans.

“Hell, Stiles”. Peter thinks that Chris’ exasperated voice is a lot closer to him than it was before, and he opens his eyes only to roll them back closed again, when he sees Stiles with a cookie in each hand.

“Nuuph,” is followed by a crunch, and another contented moan.

“That cookie is getting more of a response than I did”. Chris sighs, and Peter feels a warm shoulder settle against his. Peter hums in agreement.

“I can never tell if he’s killed the mood, or if he’s trying to set one”. Chris laughs, and Stiles makes an affronted, but muffled sound. “There’s a trick to it,” Peter confesses.

“Show me”. Chris’ voice is low, and challenging. Peter opens his eyes, and turns to look at the hunter. Stiles is still in Chris’ lap, and his hands are moving up and down the young man’s sides. Stiles has slowed his chewing, and is looking between them wide-eyed with an eager grin.

“Yeah Peter, show him”. Peter takes a bite of cookie despite Stiles’ protests, and finishes it while pretending to be thoughtful. He watches Chris, who watches him in turn. Peter sees a hunger there that is unmistakable, and he remembers that the fox isn’t a hound’s only prey.

Peter turns to face Stiles, but doesn’t take his eyes off the hunter. He holds Stiles’ chin, and it’s clear by his surprised expression that he hadn’t expected to be Peter’s target, but he’s got a point to prove. Peter kisses Stiles lazily, like it’s something he’s done a thousand times before, Stiles licking the taste of cookie from his tongue. Peter side-eyes the hunter when Stiles moans filthily.

When Peter pulls away, he has a smirk on his lips, and a quip on his tongue, but they’re stolen when Chris pulls him down to coax said tongue into the hunter’s own mouth. Peter’s hands come up to the hunter’s shoulders, one fluttering up and gently running his fingers across the other’s neck. He feels Stiles shift beside them, then he’s being pulled into Chris’ lap instead. The feeling of those hips beneath him was something Peter can’t say he’s never thought about, but he had never known he’d needed it like this. He never could have imagined that he’d be his most content being firmly held, while Stiles watched, munching beside them. There’s a hand in the hair at the nape of his neck, gentle and tickling compared to the two gripping his thighs. Peter sighs heavily when Chris finally pulls away, all the uncertainty and tension draining out of him, leaving nothing but heady relief, and a deep satisfaction. Chris is looking at him with adoring eyes, and a soft smile that Peter returns. Then, Peter is shuffling over, being shoved into position to lie beside Chris, as Stiles arranges them so that he can settle himself across their laps.

“Should have known that all we’d have to do was ignore him to get him to come to us,” Chris chuckles, conspiratorially to Peter, though he doesn’t lower his voice any. Stiles huffs, rolls over so that his pink cheeks and grin are hidden in Peter’s shirt. Peter begins to stroke his hair.

“I worked that out a long time ago, you’re just slow Christopher”. Peter chastises.

“You’re both slow,” Stiles whines. “I got impatient”. Chris turns to look at Peter with an eyebrow quirked in disbelief, Peter shrugs a little abashed. The hunter smiles running a hand down Stiles’ back, and the young man hums in appreciation. The night was filled with the haze of a soft happiness, all three sharing whispered admissions, laughter, and loving touches. Peter had never felt so cherished in all his life.

Theirs’ was a fox that by the whispers of the stars themselves, could not be caught, and that probably still holds true. If Peter and Chris are truly honest, it was the fox that caught them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made myself cry writing this chapter, Peter's feelings were too real, haha. Thank you all for your words of comfort and encouragement, they kept me strong. My updates have been so staggered, so thank you all for being patient. I hope you enjoyed the end to this story. Love and good health to you all.


End file.
